Love Is Hard
by Suki59
Summary: My human Eric and Sookie love story in Los Angeles continues. This is number 5 in the series. Please read Love Isn't Easy, Love In L.A., More Love In L.A. and Love Still Isn't Easy first. AH, AU, OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**Charlaine Harris owns these characters.**

**A/N: Please enjoy Love Isn't Easy, Love In L.A., More Love In L.A. and Love Still Isn't Easy before starting Love Is Hard.**

Sookie

Eric and I will be celebrating our sixth wedding anniversary next month. Well, I guess, technically, we won't be celebrating. At least not together. He'll be in Rome shooting and I'll be…well…right here. In our beautiful, enormous home in Brentwood. I'm not exactly looking forward to being apart from Eric on our anniversary, but it's not as if it will be the first time. There have been quite a few anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's days—all kinds of special occasions—that I've spent alone in recent years. Thank goodness for cell phones, right? Sometimes, I wonder if that's what's keeping our marriage together.

I was planning on spending the day today shopping with Tara, having lunch, getting a manicure; but now I'm in a fair amount of pain and think I might cancel our plans. The doctor told me to expect some cramps after the procedure, and I just laughed internally. Women experience cramps every month—how bad can they be? Well, they are pretty bad. I'm certainly not laughing now.

I pulled into my garage and took my cell phone out of my purse to call Tara. She answered as I entered the kitchen.

"So, how did it go? When will you get the results?"

"Um…fine, I guess. There wasn't much to it, really. The doctor just filled my fallopian tubes with some sort of dye and took some x-rays. It was a little uncomfortable, but not that bad, really." The cook was standing mere feet away, cleaning out the refrigerator, so I continued through the house, heading up to our bedroom for some privacy. Juana didn't need to hear about my ailing fallopian tubes.

"Hold on, Tara. Let me get to my room." She waited patiently while I crossed through the dining room and living room, climbed the stairs and followed the hall all the way to the last bedroom. I opened the door only to see Margarita changing the bed. "Wait, um…let me find an empty room." I turned around and walked back down the hall to my second-most used room in the house—my office. I closed the door behind me and sat in my desk chair. "Okay. The good news is that the dye that goes through my fallopian tubes also flushes them out, making me more fertile. The doctor said that a lot of women get pregnant after this procedure just from that alone. The bad news is that I'm having cramps that could cripple a race horse, and like a fool, I said no thanks to the painkiller prescription."

"Well, let me run something over to you, hun. You know my medicine cabinet is full of goodies. Do you want a Vicodin? Percocet? I've got loads leftover from my last lipo."

"No, no. No thanks, Tara. Really. I'll just take a couple of Tylenol and lie down." I wondered if there was a bed in the house that wasn't in mid-strip. "But, I'm going to have to cancel our lunch and manicure. I'll call the salon."

"Are you sure? A mani-pedi might be just what the doctor ordered." The leaf blower outside the balcony doors started up. I looked out to see the gardeners working around the pool.

I yelled into the phone. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll call you later, okay?" I was pretty sure she said good-bye, but the noise was too loud to be certain.

I searched the bedrooms, and just as I'd predicted, found the beds stripped. I couldn't imagine why they needed to be changed every week. Nobody ever slept in them. I went back down the stairs and found some privacy in the den. I closed the door and walked through the room to the bathroom, but there was no Tylenol in the cabinet. I dug some out of my purse and washed them down with water collected as I cupped my hands under the tap. I imagined the hell I'd catch from my friends for drinking tap water, but didn't much care. I called and cancelled my manicure appointment and finally flopped down on the sofa. I pulled the cashmere throw over me and curled into a fetal position, waiting for the pain to diminish.

The leaf blower finally stopped and I closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep. But within minutes, the vacuum cleaner noise replaced the leaf blower, and I gave up. I lay there in a little ball and thought about everything I had gone through in the last year and a half trying to get pregnant.

Shortly after Eric and I bought this house, we decided it was time to start trying for a baby. Eric had wanted to wait until we were more financially secure, and I wondered just how much money that would take. He finally agreed that we shouldn't wait any longer, and that's when it began.

Prior to that we had lived in a little old house in Venice that we bought shortly after we got married. It was a two-bedroom Spanish house built in 1927 with a little yard and only four blocks from the beach. Yes, it was small, but because of its proximity to the ocean, it was also a small fortune. And it needed work. Eric was between films and had time to fix it up. I was working for Alcide, but I only had normal office hours at the time—no heavy press schedule—and was able to help Eric with the house quite a bit, especially on the weekends.

It was such a blissful time in our marriage. The house was almost always a mess, but we loved it. When we weren't covered in paint or plaster, we were walking the beach or working in the yard. I discovered I had quite a knack for landscaping and by the second year in the house, I had the back yard looking like a dream. It was enclosed by a high privacy fence, and was a little piece of paradise where we could relax and make love under the sun or stars.

When we bought the house, Eric was worried about the mortgage. But by the time he'd finished his next film, the mortgage was paid off and our savings account was filling up again. I got regular raises at work, but it wasn't long before my salary seemed insignificant compared to Eric's. He kept telling me that I could quit work if I wanted to, and while I appreciated the sentiment, I really did love what I did for a living, meager as it was.

It wasn't until we bought this house and moved to Brentwood that I finally decided to quit. I doubt if it was a coincidence that every single woman I knew in Brentwood, including my new neighbor and friend, Tara Thornton, did not work. Brentwood wives ran their households, took lots of yoga classes, and had perfect children. This was the dream life that Eric and I had been aiming for since we moved to Los Angeles. We had lots of money and lots of friends and a bright future together.

I looked at the huge diamond ring on my hand and thought of the night Eric presented me with it. We were out to dinner at Spago when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little light blue box. Of course I knew what it was—it was Tiffany blue. The diamond was ten times the size of my engagement ring. My inner voice screamed no as I removed the tiny diamond and handed it to Eric. I'd always loved that ring, but didn't have the heart to tell Eric that I preferred it over the huge rock he had just presented to me. The new rock represented all the hard work he'd done and success he'd achieved and the last thing I wanted was to seem ungrateful for his efforts. So I put the rock on my hand and watched as the little blue box with my tiny diamond in it disappeared back into Eric's pocket. There wasn't much left of that night that seemed special. We were interrupted by Portia Bellefleur and her entourage. Eric had just acquired her for his next film and all eyes in the room watched their exchange of air kisses. Four or five more interruptions later, I gave up on trying to have a conversation about the ring, and we went home.

I turned the diamond around so it wouldn't scratch my face as I rested my head on the back of my hand. The vacuum cleaner finally stopped and I closed my eyes, wishing my uterus would stop complaining.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric

I kept checking the clock, wondering if Sookie was through with her procedure. I had no idea how long it took to x-ray fallopian tubes.

We were in pre-production at Sony on a remake of Roman Holiday, making my hours fairly reasonable. Rehearsals started the following week and then we would leave for Rome a month later to shoot. I realized that being away for three months would not be conducive to baby-making, which put even more pressure on us to get it right before I left. I couldn't remember the last time I had an orgasm for pleasure rather than business purposes. Who knew that making love could be turned into such a chore?

When Sookie and I moved into Brentwood, we decided it was time to start trying to get pregnant. Most of our friends were already ahead of us, except for the single ones, and even a few of those had had children either by themselves or from a previous marriage.

I had been trying to get Sookie to quit working anyway, and the move seemed to be a place to start a new chapter in our lives. She could relax and run the household. We had no money worries. It might be wrong of me, but I was relieved to get her away from Alcide Herveaux, and even more relieved to get her away from Sam Merlotte. I know what I am, and that's the jealous type.

It was just a coincidence that Sam became one of Sookie's clients years after being Amelia's boss. He owned the restaurant in West Hollywood where Amelia worked when we first moved to L.A. Then he opened another one in Beverly Hills. A third in Santa Monica followed shortly after, and then his television appearances began. Thanks to Sookie and Herveaux Public Relations, he became the celebrity chef on every morning talk show, every news segment that featured food. And, of course, there was the promotional tour after his cookbook was published. Sam was very handsome and personable and it was hard not to like the guy. That is until I found out that he had kissed my wife. She never told me about it, but this is a small town.

I wasn't worried that Sookie would cheat on me. I trusted her and suspected that the kiss was most likely like the one she'd had with Alcide before I got to L.A. Sookie was never aware of the way men viewed her. She could be so naïve. But just to make sure she knew where she belonged, I bought her the biggest diamond that I thought I could get away with and put it on her finger. I wanted her to know that I loved her and wanted her. And I wanted Sam Merlotte to see a rock on her finger that even he couldn't afford. Okay, maybe I'm a caveman, but that's what I did.

So, when we moved into the house in Brentwood, I gently nudged Sookie to change careers. After some discussion and an odd temporary foray into weight-loss obsession, she decided her new job was to make a baby, and she took it very seriously. It's funny, but since we started trying to get pregnant, our sex life has completely disintegrated. I thought making a baby would mean having lots of sex, but I couldn't have been more wrong. It meant willing my morning wood away while Sookie peed on a stick and popped it into her fertility monitor. There was no ejaculating three days prior to ovulation day—something about making my swimmers stronger. There was no sex for two weeks after ovulation day. The books said we could, but a female orgasm may trigger early miscarriage, so orgasms were off the table for Sookie at first, and then it just felt too selfish to even ask to have one of my own, so I accepted two weeks of celibacy. Then her period would start, and heaven forbid that the housekeeper would see blood on the sheets—so, sex was out for those days as well. Sometimes there were a few days just after her period when we could make love just for the pleasure of it, but then we began to approach that three-day ban just before ovulation day again.

You'd think that I would look forward to ovulation day, but sadly, that became one of my least favorite days. There were a few days in which we had to have as much sex as possible around ovulation day, and it seemed to always happen right when I would be in the middle of some important meetings, or, god forbid, when I was out of town. Even when I was home, it felt like we needed to hurry because a housekeeper or cook or gardener was in the house or just outside the window. And the only purpose to our efforts was to produce sperm. As soon as I'd come, I'd pull out and put a pillow under Sookie's butt to keep her hips elevated for ten or fifteen minutes. Afterplay was a thing of the past. It really couldn't have been less romantic.

So, in spite of the fact that on paper we were trying to have a baby, we had actually had less sex in the past year and half than any other time in our relationship. I wasn't too happy about it, but I wanted Sookie to be happy, and I knew how much she wanted to have a baby. I kept thinking that some day we could get back to the level of intimacy we'd enjoyed before, but a nagging voice in the back of my head reminded me that the real loss of privacy and romance would begin when the baby actually arrived. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't torn about the whole issue. I wanted Sookie to be happy. I kept telling myself that. But secretly, a part of me hoped that we didn't have any children. I was happy with Sookie and my work and wasn't sure if I wanted more.

Maybe it was because of the whole Arlene thing, I don't know. I couldn't even say I was ambivalent about being a father when I first thought I was one. I honestly didn't want to be one. Maybe some of those feelings were left over. I never talked to Sookie about it because I felt so guilty and selfish whenever I thought about it.

I picked up the phone to check on Sookie. She was home and having cramps, but the procedure went fine apparently. She would learn the results at her next doctor's appointment. I told her not to wait for me to eat dinner since I had a couple of late meetings. It wouldn't really matter when I got home anyway. No sperm was needed on this day.

I went back to work and immersed myself in the film, trying not to think too much about the state of the rest of my life.


	3. Chapter 3

Sookie

By the time I went to bed, the cramps had stopped. The house was finally quiet after everyone went home. I convinced Juana to let me clean up the kitchen so she could get home to her family before dark. I knew there was no way I could possibly keep a house the size of ours clean myself and get all the cooking and shopping done and still have time for anything else, but a part of me really did miss living without hired help. The little house in Venice was perfect and easy to keep up by myself even while I was working full-time. This house required a handful of people and a mistress with no other responsibilities. I knew that it was a dream come true to have such a house and such a life, but I still longed for my other little Venice cottage with it's Bougainvillea-covered fences and not-quite-perfect hardwood floors and only two bathrooms to keep clean. Somehow it seemed silly to live in a house with more toilets than residents.

I fell asleep and was soon dreaming about the Venice house. Eric and I were in the back yard, lying on a blanket and the sun was high in the sky. I said something funny and watched Eric's stomach tense as he laughed. I loved the muscles of his abdomen. I touched him and his skin was so warm from the sun. He was shirtless and my hand swept up and over his nipple, then came back and gave it a playful pinch. He removed my hand and kissed my fingertips while his other hand unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye as he stopped kissing and began sucking on my fingers. I scanned his beautiful chest and abdomen and my eyes rested on his opened jeans and the present he proudly displayed for me. I was awakened by a noise and a light.

I turned over to see Eric coming out of the bathroom. He flipped off the light and climbed into bed. I tried to go back to sleep. I wanted to get back to the dream where Eric was seducing me in the sunshine. I wanted to see his beautiful erection again. Suddenly, it dawned on me how silly it was for me to wish for my dream when I had the real thing in my bed. I reached out and touched Eric's stomach.

"Oh, I thought you were asleep." I began to untie the drawstring of his pants. "Are you still in pain?" I pulled his pants down enough to reveal the object of my desire although it was in sleep mode and not in the glorious state I'd envisioned in my dream. "Oh…did you ovulate? Isn't that next week? Or is it the end of this week?" I took him in my hand and then leaned over and put him in my mouth. "What are you doing?" And then, "Oh my god." It wasn't in sleep mode anymore.

Before he became completely aroused, I could fit all of him in my mouth and loved feeling him hit the back of my throat. Within a few strokes, however, he was too big to do that anymore and so I employed my hands to entertain the parts that wouldn't fit. Eric's hands went into my hair and his breathing picked up speed. I closed my eyes and pictured him on the blanket in the sunshine and my enthusiasm increased. My own moans got louder than Eric's as I could sense him getting close. "Fuck, Sookie, you're gonna make me come." He started to pull my head away from him. I reached up and removed one of his hands from my hair, letting him know that I wanted to stay where I was. "Come here, honey. We're gonna waste it." I realized that he wanted me to climb up his body and sit on him so that we didn't waste any of the semen and suddenly it hit me what our sex life had become. We're gonna waste it? God, that was sad. I became more determined than ever to finish my task by "wasting it" down my throat. "Sookie, stop." Not on your life. "I'm not gonna be able to stop." It was like a challenge—a competition to see who would win. The more he tried to hold back, the harder I sucked. I sped up and increased the pressure of my hands. I could feel the subtle movement of the liquid ready to spill and knew that I would win. Both hands were back on my head and a loud and long, "Fuck," came from his lips as I swallowed, selfishly and eagerly wasting every drop.

Eric

I got a blowjob. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a blowjob, but I did know that I wasn't living in the Brentwood house, so it had been at least a couple of years. I hadn't even realized how much I missed them. Well, okay, I guess I had realized it, but I tried not to think about things like that. Blowjobs were about as unnecessary in the baby-making business as…well, I couldn't even think of anything more unnecessary. Or more wonderful.

For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep in pure post-orgasmic bliss. I didn't have to remember to put the pillow under Sookie's butt or think of how much earlier I needed to set the alarm for sex before work or before the housekeeper got to the house. That orgasm was about nothing but lust, and I was in heaven. I wasn't even sure if Sookie ever felt real lust anymore. I couldn't remember when she last initiated anything sexual that didn't have one purpose and one purpose only. I pulled her to me and kissed her hair and thought as I was dropping off that it had been a long time since I'd held her like that as well.

Sookie

I was up and dressed early for my doctor's appointment at 8:30. Eric came into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. I was sitting at the table having a bowl of cereal when he came over and planted a soft kiss on my lips. "How are you feeling this morning, lover?" He hadn't called me that in…god…_years_.

"I'm better. On my way to see the specialist this morning."

Eric touched my lips with a finger and I could almost see him replaying the previous night's activities in his mind. His smile was positively devious.

"Good morning, Mr. Northman. Would you like some breakfast?" Juana walked into the room and started to unload the dishwasher.

I watched the spark in Eric's eye quickly go out. "No thanks, Juana. I'll get something at work." And then back to me, but this time with no devious grin, "I'll call you later."

When he got to the back door, he turned back and looked at me. "Are you losing weight again?"

"No! Well, I might have lost a little, but not on purpose. You know…just from stress." I glanced over to Juana to let him know that I didn't want to talk about it in front of her. He nodded and left. I watched Juana working and wondered how long a person needed to unload a dishwasher. Some days I just wanted to scream for everybody to get out of my house. But instead, I just finished my cereal and kept my mouth shut.

Eric

My good post-blowjob mood was blown (no pun intended) as soon as I noticed how thin Sookie looked. If she was losing weight again, I was going to be pissed. Shortly after we moved to Brentwood, Sookie became obsessed with losing weight. She had just quit her job (and had yet to start her baby-making career), and I guess she needed something to occupy her time. The house didn't need her like our Venice house had. It was perfect and we had people to take care of the cleaning and cooking and the yard and the pool. So, I guess she was bored.

I don't think it was a coincidence that she was also hanging out with Tara-stick-figure-Thornton all the time. I don't even want to know how much plastic surgery Tara has had. Her chest is all bony except where her implants start. And she's so botoxed, I doubt if she could frown if her life depended on it.

Sookie kept bringing up how beautiful and thin Portia Bellefleur was. I told her that I never found Portia to be all that beautiful.

"But you hired her for Over the Moon. You must have thought she was beautiful."

"I hired her because she was the biggest box office draw that the movie could afford. Beauty had nothing to do with it."

We fought about the weight issue for months. I hoped that I had finally persuaded Sookie that I loved all of her curves and did not want her to lose weight. I wasn't sure why she was feeling so insecure about her body all of a sudden, but finally the weight loss stopped and she actually gained the weight back over the next few months. I was hoping all that was over.

But she took that weight-obsession focus and just shifted it to the baby-making obsession. Well, actually, I wouldn't say she was obsessed—that's really too strong a word. But she was definitely focused. I didn't mind, really. I just wanted her to be happy, and I was afraid that deep down, Sookie had somehow become unhappy, and that scared me.


	4. Chapter 4

Sookie

I sat across the desk from Dr. Dearborn while he gave me a short tutorial on infertility. Because Eric and I had tried on our own (and with a fertility monitor) for over a year with no result, we were technically infertile.

The first thing we needed to do was to get both of us tested to see where the problem was. I'd had blood tests done at my first appointment and then I'd had my fallopian tubes checked the previous day, of course. Dr. Dearborn went over all the results and they were excellent. My hormone levels were perfect for a woman my age and my fallopian tubes were clear as a bell. I breathed a sigh of relief and listened while he explained what our next steps were. Eric's semen was to be tested the following day, and once he got a gold star for his swimmers, we'd proceed to the fancy stuff.

First, I'd have six months of taking hormones orally. This was so I'd produce multiple eggs, which would, in turn, increase my chances of pregnancy. For those six months, I'd come in several times every month for ultrasounds to monitor my egg production. Then on the big day, I'd come in to be artificially inseminated by Eric's sperm, of course.

If those six months didn't result in a successful pregnancy, then we'd bring out the big guns and I'd inject myself with hormones twice a day—also to produce multiple eggs. Again, I'd get regular ultrasounds to monitor the eggs, and if I produced enough, we'd do in vitro fertilization. There was a lot more to in vitro than there was to the artificial insemination, and so we'd save that for the big-gun months. Of course, I hoped I'd never get to those months and that I could get pregnant sooner with one of the smaller-gun procedures.

The doctor sent me home with a stack of papers to read and an even bigger stack for Eric and me to sign. We'd have to come back for another appointment together for counseling on birth defects and all the odds of horrible things going wrong (my words, not his). And then, of course, this would all cost us a small fortune. Our insurance wouldn't pay for any of the treatments. Dr. Dearborn explained that many couples viewed this sort of undertaking like an investment in a car or a vacation home. I was relieved that we didn't have to worry about the money--Eric made such a good living--but wondered what kind of debt couples had to get themselves into before even thinking of the expense of the actual baby.

I wanted to get started as soon as possible. I wasn't sure when Eric was supposed to leave for Rome, but I hoped that we could at least get a month of the artificial insemination in before he left. I scheduled his sperm test for the following morning and left.

When I met Tara for lunch, I told her what the doctor had told me. She was fairly familiar with the whole thing as she'd had a couple of girlfriends who had gotten pregnant by in vitro. Tara herself had a five-year-old daughter that she'd conceived the regular way, and wasn't interested in having any more children. Her husband was the famous model, JB DuRone, and while they could certainly afford all the children they wanted, they had decided that they only wanted one. She was a beautiful little girl, although I rarely saw her—she was always with the nanny.

I spent the afternoon by the pool reading through all the literature the doctor had given me. Then I went upstairs to my office to read more about the procedures online. I kept getting distracted or interrupted by Juana or Margarita or the phone until finally, I'd had enough and sent everyone home early. Eric called to say he'd be late again, so I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine and walked back out to the pool.

I hadn't had a drop of alcohol since I'd started trying to get pregnant. Neither had Eric. He was also avoiding hot baths and jacuzzis. I avoided them as well during the two weeks every month that I hoped I might be pregnant. I also avoided any medications, seafood, caffeine, junk food, tap water, strenuous exercise, stress (although worrying about what to avoid seemed to cause the stress I needed to avoid). It seemed that with everything I did and especially everything I put in my mouth, I had my uterus in mind. I'd read the books and we both did whatever they said we needed to do like good little procreators.

I was never a big drinker anyway, but I decided that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I had a little something to relax my mind while I was enjoying my rare solitude. I knew for certain that I wasn't pregnant at the moment. Those days were always a little less stressful. I didn't have to worry about making some horrible mistake that could cause early miscarriage. Sometimes the pressure was pretty tough.

Ever since I'd left the doctor's office, I'd had something nagging me in the back of my mind. It started when I was leaving the office and I looked around the waiting room, imagining how clear all the fallopian tubes must be in those women. I got my instructions on how to bring Eric's semen in the following morning, and then there was that nagging little feeling again. Was this really what I wanted to do?

I had always been the kind of person that didn't do things halfway. I prided myself on being very capable and very determined. It's how I got through school, and how I functioned at work, and when I decided to get pregnant, that's how I approached that effort as well. I'd obviously hit some obstacles since I wasn't pregnant yet, but in true Sookie fashion, I'd just learned what to do next to reach my goal and sought out the fertility clinic. But was it what I really wanted to do?

When Eric and I first got married, we weren't ready for children. We wanted to wait until we had more money and a house. I always kind of assumed that I'd just go off the pill when we were ready and things would happen naturally. If we got pregnant, great. If not, that was fine as well. We'd have more time to travel or work on the house in Venice. I'd have more time to devote to my job. But then when we got to Brentwood and I no longer had a job, I devoted my time to getting pregnant. What happened to the things happening naturally idea? When did it get replaced by the do anything and everything necessary to get it to happen idea? Was it too late to change my mind? What would Eric say if I told him I wanted to go back to the just let things happen idea? And then what if it just didn't happen? What if we don't have any children? Would Eric still be happy with just me? Would I be enough family for him?

The more I examined my feelings, the more unsure I felt about the fertility treatments.

I fixed myself some dinner and ate in front of the TV. By the time Eric got home, I was in bed with a book. I gave him a brief overview of what the doctor said and he took the papers downstairs to read them himself. I made no mention of the second thoughts I was having.

Eric

I went through all of Sookie's papers and got a crash course on fertility treatments. I felt like I was on board a runaway train. When did things go from two people making love to injections and ultrasounds? I guess I shouldn't complain. All I had to do was jerk off in a cup on a regular basis. Poor Sookie had to subject her body to all of the hormones and spend an absurd number of days every month with her feet in stirrups. I signed all the places marked spouse and went to bed.

Sookie was in the shower when I got up. She'd been asleep by the time I got to bed and we hadn't had a chance to talk about any of the fertility stuff. She followed me to work and I jerked off in the cup in the bathroom in the production office while my casting director waited in my office for our 8:00 meeting.

Sookie gave me a peck on the cheek and I watched her walk across the lot out my window, little brown paper bag in hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Sookie

I dropped off all the papers and Eric's little bag of semen at the fertility clinic. The women in the waiting room kept their faces buried in magazines while we all pretended that I wasn't delivering my husband's man-juice in a to-go cup.

I was on my way to yoga class when my phone rang. I'd forgotten to sign the paperwork.  
"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mrs. Northman. Your husband signed everything, but you didn't. We need both signatures to proceed."

I turned around and went back, signing each paper, missing my class. What kind of a Freudian slip was that?

The weekend passed without incident. We had dinner at Pam's on Saturday night. She had just bought a condo in Santa Monica with an ocean view. As Eric's producer, she'd made a pile of money and her new place was spectacular. I never talked about the pregnancy issue around Pam. I loved her like a sister, but for some reason, I didn't feel comfortable talking about the fertility stuff with her. I had no idea how she felt about children. She'd never been in a committed relationship and so I assumed that she hadn't really considered having children. With her work schedule, I didn't see how she could possibly manage kids without a partner.

Monday afternoon Eric met me at the clinic for our counseling session. We sat across from the doctor holding hands, but Eric dropped my hand when Dr. Dearborn told us that Eric was sterile. We sat in silence while the doctor showed us little pie charts and explained how such a low sperm count combined with Grade 1 motility diminished our odds of having a child together. Artificial insemination was out of the question. They could still make an attempt at in vitro, but wouldn't recommend it. It would be putting me through a lot of risk and pain and money spent with a very low chance of success.

Dr. Dearborn seamlessly transitioned to the lecture about sperm donors and we heard all about fees and the selection process. This was obviously what Dr. Dearborn recommended and he hoped that we could begin right away as planned with a sperm donor rather than with Eric's sperm. The last part of the lecture was a bunch of scary numbers and more charts about birth defects and rates of miscarriage and multiple births. I don't think Eric or I said a single word after we heard the word sterile.

We parted in the parking garage. Eric went back to work and I went home.

Tara called and wanted to hear all about our appointment. Amazingly, I repeated most of what the doctor told us, but left out the part about Eric being sterile and our need for a sperm donor. I didn't know what to say, and so I simply omitted it from the conversation. It didn't seem to be a real deterrent to Dr. Dearborn, so why even mention it?

Eric was home for dinner, which was fairly unusual when he was in pre-production. We made small talk while Juana served us and once she'd cleaned the kitchen and gone home, Eric was sitting out by the pool alone with a glass of whiskey. I considered pouring myself one and joining him, but decided he didn't look like he wanted company. I had a good cry in the shower and went to bed early.

When I woke up, it was 2 a.m. and I was alone. I went downstairs and noted Eric had made a serious dent in the whiskey. I put the bottle back in the cabinet and the glass in the dishwasher. No need for Juana or Margarita to find them in the morning.

I found Eric asleep in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. I don't think anyone had ever slept in that room since we'd owned the house, but I knew for a fact that the bed had fresh linens. I crawled into bed with him and cuddled up behind him. His breathing never changed.

I woke alone to the sound of the gardeners outside. I remembered where I was and found my way back to our bedroom. Margarita had already made the bed. It was after 8:00. Eric was probably already at work. I pulled the comforter back and got into my bed and pulled the covers over my head, drifting back into an oblivious sleep.

When I did get up, I peed on my stick out of habit. It looked like ovulation day would be tomorrow. Normally, Eric and I would schedule sex starting tonight, but I was at a loss as to what to do. This had been my life's purpose for the past year and a half, and suddenly, it made no sense to continue.

I cancelled my lunch plans and went to the beach. I sat on the sand and watched the families playing in the surf and cried behind my sunglasses.

I ate alone, sent Juana home, and went to bed early. I woke at 2 again and put the bottle away and the glass in the dishwasher. Then I found Eric again down the hall and climbed in with him. When I woke alone the next morning, I went back to my own bed, but Margarita hadn't made it up yet. I guess she'd figured out our new routine already and silently adjusted to it.

Eric and I had managed to pass that first week without having any conversation at all. On Friday night, I went downstairs at 2 and found the glass and bottle, but this time the bottle was empty. I rinsed it out and put it in the recycle bin and went up to find Eric. But he wasn't in the guest room. I checked all five of our bedrooms and then the den and living room, but there was no Eric. I had a momentary panic and ran out to the pool. I searched the water, but he wasn't there. I opened the back door and saw that his car was missing.

I called his cell phone every hour on the hour, but only got his voice mail. At 10:27 a.m. I heard the garage door open and waited for him at the kitchen table, unwanted tears spilling over and staining my face.

He looked like hell as he stepped into the kitchen and sat across the table from me. "I'm sorry." I cried a little harder. I so didn't want him to say he'd done anything to be sorry for. "Please don't look at me like that." There was a long silence, punctuated by my sniffles. He finally took a deep breath. "I was arrested. For DUI. Bobby bailed me out, but there will most likely be some press about it. I'm sorry. I know it will embarrass you."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. We were out of whiskey. I went to get some more and got pulled over. It was stupid. I don't blame you for being pissed."

"I was worried," I choked out with a sob.

"Well, I'm sorry I worried you."

Eric

I confessed my stupidity to Sookie, took a shower, and went to bed. When I woke up, I felt like I'd had the worst week of my life. Because I had.

I heard Sookie down in the kitchen and found her putting away groceries. I sat at the table and watched her ass in those yoga pants and fought the urge to cry like a first grader. I thought of the irony of putting her through that whole paternity mess with Arlene. No one knew then that I couldn't have fathered those children because I couldn't father any children. Sookie suffered through all that shit for nothing. And then she'd gone through the past year and a half peeing on sticks and resting with her butt on a pillow after every act of intercourse for absolutely nothing. I felt like nothing.

Sookie pulled a bottle of whiskey from the last grocery bag and put in it the cabinet. Then she turned and looked at me, not accusingly, but sweetly, before leaving the room. I waited until I heard her close the bathroom door upstairs and turn the shower on before I let the tears come.


	6. Chapter 6

Sookie

Eric and I had done a marvelous job of avoiding our situation for over two weeks when I got my period. I had to be a big girl and confront him, and so I went downstairs after I'd gotten ready for bed. Eric was sitting by the pool and was clearly fairly drunk. I knew, of course, that he drank out there alone every night—or at least he had since we got the news about his sterility. I didn't blame him. I wanted to get drunk too, but I decided that sleeping through most of the day worked better for me.

I sat in the chair beside his. He looked over at me and smiled. "You look really pretty." He had a little slur.

"Thanks, honey. I…um…got my period." His brow furrowed while he blinked slowly. For the last year and a half those words meant that we'd failed to get pregnant again. That was obviously no longer an expectation, and so Eric looked confused. I took a deep breath. "I'm supposed to call the clinic when I start my period. I get an ultrasound and then we proceed with…well…whatever we want to proceed with. I mean, we obviously don't_ have _to do anything this month, but this is the last month before you leave for Rome, so I guess I need to call and tell them something."

"It doesn't matter if I'm in Rome or not, though, does it? My services are no longer needed." I hadn't thought of that, but he was right. I just sat silently, not knowing what to say. I guess he realized that I wasn't going to respond. "And what do you want to do?"

"I guess nothing?" It was a question and a statement.

"Yeah, nothing is good." He laughed a little. Then he got very serious. "Do you want to get a sperm donor?"

I felt my bottom lip quiver and whispered, "No."

His eyes filled with tears and his voice cracked. "Neither do I. Are you mad at me?"

I shook my head and felt the tears fall. "I'll call in the morning and let them know." And then I went up to go to bed alone again.

Eric

I was looking forward to going to Rome. I knew I'd be too busy shooting to think about the mess my life was in. I'd pleaded guilty to my DUI and paid a handsome fine, but thanks to my expensive attorney and the fact that I was a first offender, I didn't have to do any jail time. I did get community service, but it was postponed until my return from Rome. My license was suspended for three months. I'd just have a production assistant drive me to and from work, and by the time I got back from Rome, I'd have my license back.

I continued drinking until the week before I left for Rome, and then I just didn't have time anymore. We were rehearsing and working late every night and I let that be my excuse for ignoring my wife.

I'd hired Portia Bellefleur again. She was happy to say yes since she'd gotten a Golden Globe nomination for Over the Moon. Rehearsals went well; I knew we'd have a hit.

I kept thinking I'd talk to Sookie about everything before I left, but that simply never happened. I managed to rarely be home, of course, and when I was, she was usually asleep. It didn't go unnoticed that I woke every morning to find her in bed with me in the guest room. I wasn't sure what to make of it, and so, just like everything else important in my life, I chose to ignore it.

Sookie

When I drove Eric to the airport, we made small talk about details of our life that needed to be taken care of. We managed to avoid anything of any importance, but instead discussed getting the pool resurfaced and Eric's car tuned up. We'd learned a long time ago that when Eric had an out-of-town shoot, it worked better for us if I stayed at home. I could take care of the details of our lives so he wouldn't have to worry about anything except the film. The days were always long any time they filmed, and on location, they shot six days instead of five. Even on his day off, he had meetings with the location scout or the producers or the local casting director. And really every minute he wasn't needed by the film, he was asleep. Having me there just gave him another worry—he felt like I was being neglected-- so we decided that my supporting him from home worked best for us.

I popped the trunk and got out to help him unload his stuff. He turned and gave me a quick hug and a peck on the lips and promised to call soon. I got back into the car and drove away, sneaking a peek in my rear-view mirror as my eyes filled with tears.

I missed Eric, of course, even though he hadn't been much of a partner lately. I got used to sleeping through the night instead of changing beds at 2 a.m. Margarita went back to our original routine and only changed the guest linens once a week. I had the pool resurfaced and Eric's car tuned up and ran the house like a tight ship. I went to yoga and had lunch with Tara (who knew nothing about my marital problems and assumed that the baby-making was on hold because Eric was in Rome). Eric called every few days and left a message that he was fine. I emailed back that all was well at home.

I was walking to my car one day after yoga class and stopped in front of Starbucks, debating whether I wanted a coffee or not. I'd remembered to zip my wallet into my jacket pocket with my keys and cell phone, knowing that I might want a treat after class. There was no reason to avoid caffeine anymore. I peered into the window, thinking I might see a friend to share some empty conversation with when I felt a jab into my back. "Give me your rings." I instinctively complied, twisting my rock and wedding band off and passing them over my shoulder without looking back. And then he was gone, and it was over just like that. I wanted to turn and see him, but instead ducked into the Starbucks and sat down with shaky legs.

Amazingly, there were two police officers in line to get coffee. As soon as I thought my legs could support my weight again, I went over and discreetly told them what happened. They were probably annoyed that I'd interrupted their coffee break, but I felt like I should report what happened. It turned out to be the right thing to do because our insurance company needed the police report to process the check.

I went home and fished through Eric's dresser until I found the light blue box and put my old and much preferred engagement ring on. Then I sat down at the computer to compose the email to Eric.

Other than being robbed at gunpoint in Brentwood in broad daylight with a pair of cops mere feet away, there wasn't much to report to Eric on a regular basis. My life was easy and predictable and boring.

Then Sam Merlotte called and things started to change.


	7. Chapter 7

Eric

Shooting in Rome presented some special challenges, but all in all, things with the film were going well. We shot six days a week, and I was too busy to think much about the mess my personal life was in. When we were able to squeeze in some personal time (which wasn't much) on our day off, Pam and Portia and I tried to do some sightseeing or at least have a dinner out occasionally. It was a huge secret, of course, and I'd only found out since arriving in Rome, but Pam and Portia were an item. Portia was desperate to keep it under wraps because her box office draw as a leading woman could be seriously jeopardized if the public knew she was gay, or bi, or whatever she was. So, whenever they went out in public together, I went with them to avoid any gossip about Portia's sexuality. As a result, there were a few shots of Portia and me together on the internet and ridiculous remarks about an affair.

I didn't much care that the tabloids had paired Portia and me. My wife was a publicist and knew better than to read that crap, much less believe it.

I called Sookie some, but with my schedule and the time difference, it became much easier to stay in touch by email. She sent regular reports about the house and general news about L.A., but it wasn't until she told me about being robbed that she wrote anything remotely personal. I was pissed and naturally upset that some asshole had poked a gun into my wife's back. I didn't care about the rings. We could always buy new rings, but the thought of Sookie being scared really got to me. I wanted to get on the next plane home and hold her and tell her that we were going to be okay, but knew that I couldn't. I just wrote that I was sorry to hear about the rings and was glad that she was wasn't hurt. That was an understatement.

The day I got her email about Sam Merlotte's job offer, things took a turn for us—at least for me. I hated the idea of Sookie working for him; I knew he had a thing for her. But I also knew that Sookie was bored and disappointed in me and needed something in her life. She had put all her energy into the pregnancy attempts, and now that that whole thing seemed to have crumbled into a big mess with my useless testicles perched on top, she had nothing to do with her time anymore. A couple of months ago, she had a life as a new mother in her future. Now what did she have? I couldn't give her the child she desperately wanted; the least I could do was give her the freedom to start a new job.

So when she asked me what I thought about the job, I just emailed back: Go for it.

Sookie

I was surprised to hear from Sam. I'd worked as his publicist when I was at Herveaux, and we had developed a friendship as well, but we hadn't really stayed in touch much. Sam had crossed a line once with me and kissed me under some mistletoe at a Christmas party. I'd set him straight immediately afterwards, and he'd been a perfect gentleman since.

Merlotte's, Inc. was expanding. He was planning on opening two new restaurants—in Las Vegas and in Phoenix—and a new cookbook was coming out soon. He wanted me to work as an in-house publicist. I could work from home mostly and many weeks it wouldn't even be full-time, but the salary was decent and I knew I could do it with one hand tied behind my back.

I hung up pretty excited about the offer. I hadn't even realized how much I needed something of my own again. Running a house staffed with people to do the real work did nothing but frustrate me. Plus I needed something to take my mind off of the baby stuff. And the marriage stuff. I sent an email to Eric, hoping he'd be encouraging about it.

I met Sam at his restaurant in Santa Monica and we went over my responsibilities. I filled out some paperwork for payroll, and just like that, I was back in the work force.

I was feeling good about myself for the first time in a long time. Driving away from the restaurant, I took a wrong turn and soon found myself nearing my old neighborhood in Venice. I kept going and parked the car in front of our old house. I felt like some kind of crazy stalker sitting in the car—stalking my old life. Finally, I got out and walked up to the gate. It hadn't changed much. The front door had a new coat of paint and the roses needed trimming. I felt the pain of nostalgia and suddenly felt very old. I took my phone out and snapped a picture of the house.

Just as I was feeling sorry for myself, I caught sight of a little dog out of the corner of my eye. He was running up the sidewalk to greet me, wagging his tail. He looked like a cross between a Corgi and a Chihuahua—too small to be a Corgi, and too short to be a Chihuahua. He looked up at me with perfectly crossed eyes and a big smile. I snapped his picture as well, just because he was too cute. "Where's your person?"

I scanned the sidewalk. No people. We started to walk together—I hoped that maybe I'd see an open gate and put him back into his yard. As we neared the end of the block, a women emerged from her yard, calling, "Sam!" He ran to her and I waved as she closed the front gate behind him. I turned to head back to my car when I noticed the for sale sign in the yard next to Sam's house. I stopped and studied the house. Most of the houses in the neighborhood were similar—small Spanish homes built in the 20's. This one was no different. It was in good shape—had obviously been renovated, but the yard needed a little work. I pictured me and Eric living there and the tears started. I wanted to go back in time before the Brentwood life, before the baby failure—to the time when we just loved each other and didn't worry so much about what was around the corner.

I emailed Eric when I got home and told him I'd taken Sam's job offer. Then I looked up the real estate listing for the little house in Venice.

Eric

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of Sam Merlotte. He held Sookie's interest more than I did now that she'd started her new job. Even though it pained me for her to work for him, I could see that working made Sookie happy, and I had always wanted Sookie's happiness above all else.

Maybe I was a walking cliché, but learning that I was sterile was a huge blow to my male ego. I can't imagine there's a man on the planet who wouldn't have a tough time with that one. But I was also dealing with the tremendous private guilt that came with my secret: I had been tentative about having a baby in the first place. I went along with whatever Sookie wanted of course, but deep down I was never really certain that I wanted a child. Now that I knew I could never have one, I felt so incredibly sorry for feeling that way. I wanted to make Sookie happy. If I could, I would still go through anything to get her pregnant—at least that's what I told myself until the night she asked me about the sperm donor. And then selfishly (and in alcohol-induced honesty), I told her that I didn't want a sperm donor. Now I had even more to feel guilty about. I had failed Sookie on so many levels, I was losing count.

As I pictured Sookie working for Sam, I also started to picture her making a life with him. I guess I felt some sort of need to punish myself for my perceived failure as a husband and as a man. I hated the thought of Sookie with another man, but then I knew that Sam could give her what I couldn't—a normal life—a life with children. Could I really ever walk away from her so she could find the life she deserved? It was too painful to think about, but that's just what I did—over and over.

Sookie

I didn't mention to Eric that I'd made an appointment to see the house in Venice. It was really just to indulge my own little fantasy. The house reminded me so much of our first little home—just a few doors away. Only this one was even better. It had a third bedroom and the kitchen and bathrooms had all been upgraded. It had new copper pipes and an updated electrical system. It really didn't need anything except maybe a few new plants in the yard. I absolutely loved it.

I had set my office up at home so it was easy to get my work done for Sam every morning. I could still make my yoga classes and even an occasional lunch with Tara. I was definitely happier that I was working, but a part of me still had the need to obsess. I turned all of my baby-making neuroses into fantasies of me and Eric in the house in Venice. Somehow, I just knew that we could fix all that was wrong between us if we could go back to a simpler life. Compared to what we paid for the Brentwood house, the Venice house was a bargain, but still, it was a lot of money. I knew I'd never feel right about spending our savings on the house without consulting Eric, and I didn't know how to put in an email that I wanted to fix our mess of a marriage through the purchase of real estate. I kept trying to put the Venice house out of my mind, and I thought I was kind of doing a fair job of it until the day I got the insurance check for my rings. It was a whopper.

I went to the real estate website and plugged the check amount into the mortgage calculator where the down payment went and hit the button. The monthly payments weren't nothing, but they were actually do-able with my new salary. Maybe I could persuade Eric that we could buy the Venice house and still keep the Brentwood house. Juana and Margarita could keep the Brentwood house running smoothly and Eric would still have a big fancy home where he could entertain business people. No one would have to know that we really lived in our little love shack at the beach. Maybe I was delusional, but I thought that maybe this plan could work.

Eric might think I'd lost my mind, and maybe I had. I worked for an hour on the carefully worded email. I explained that I'd found a house that I wanted to buy. I may have fudged a little and indicated that it would make a good office for me and would be closer to Sam's office in Santa Monica. I told him I could use the insurance check as the down payment and then I could make the payments with what Sam paid me. I left out one part –the most important part—that I hoped that buying the house could fix our marriage. I just couldn't write that in an email. I'd have to show him what I meant when he got home. I pictured him walking through the front door and loving it as much as I did and sweeping me off my feet, saying everything was going to be okay.


	8. Chapter 8

Eric

The day Sookie told me she wanted a separation was a tough one for me. I wished I weren't across the globe and tied up for sixteen hours a day, but I was. She found a little house in Venice and wanted to buy it with the ring money and then make payments with her salary. She never used the word separation, but her meaning was perfectly clear. Why else would she want to buy herself a house?

I could see that things were already set in motion and there was little I could do about it. I didn't want to stand in the way of Sookie's happiness, but it killed me that she wanted to live apart from me. I thought of how I had ignored her and gotten drunk by the pool every night there at the end and berated myself for being such a selfish ass. I emailed back that if this is really what she wanted, to go ahead and buy the house. I told her she didn't need to make payments. We had the money to pay for the house. I suggested that she call Bobby Burnham and have him shuffle some investments around so she could get the cash. I debated for a long time before I added: Have you talked to a lawyer? I wondered how long it would be before I should expect to be served with divorce papers.

Sookie

I called Bobby Burnham and he had already heard from Eric and was working on getting the cash together for the house. I was ecstatic that Eric was so enthusiastic about my plan. Then I called the realtor and told her I'd be making an offer. Just before I hung up, I asked her if there was any reason we'd need a lawyer. I hadn't remembered using one when we bought our other two houses and wasn't sure why Eric thought we'd need one for this house, but I just wanted to double check. She confirmed that we wouldn't need one unless something went wrong, and there was not much chance of that with a cash sale.

Because we would not be in need of a mortgage, escrow could close in two weeks. I faxed all the papers to Eric and he signed them and faxed them back to escrow. For the first time in a long time, I felt optimistic about our future and had a little spring in my step. Coincidentally, the house closed on our sixth wedding anniversary. I took that as a good sign and simply emailed: Escrow closed. Happy anniversary.

Eric

I'm not sure when Sookie became so cynical, but I didn't find it one bit funny that she felt the need to rub my face in the fact that she had gained her independence from me on our anniversary. I was tempted to tell her how I felt, but I was so tired and heartbroken over the whole affair that I just didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. What did she want? For me to congratulate her?

Sookie

I was surprised and confused when Eric didn't mention our anniversary. He'd never forgotten it before, and even if he'd forgotten it this time, I had just reminded him with my own email. I thought that maybe he didn't mention it because he was going to surprise me with a flower delivery or something, but as the week went by, it was evident that he'd chosen to ignore it. That fact sat in the back of my mind, nagging until I could hardly think of much else. I thought that things between us would improve with my new plan, but I suspected that there was even more wrong with our marriage than I was aware of. It made me more determined than ever to make things right with the new house.

I moved a bedroom set from one of the guest rooms and my office furniture and a handful of other basics—a sofa from the den, a TV from another guest room, the kitchen table and chairs. Amazingly, the Brentwood house still looked perfectly reasonable with the missing furniture—well, except for a couple of empty bedrooms that no one ever went in anyway. Once Eric and I had settled into the Venice house, we'd figure out what else we needed and maybe even buy some things together for the new house. I had fantasies of the two of us bidding at an auction or shopping a flea market for used pieces that fit us and the house perfectly.

Every time I worked in the back yard, Sam would bark at me from the house next door. I'd peer over the fence and talk to him. He really was the cutest and funniest little dog. He'd run up to the fence with his ball in his mouth, wanting me to play, but I couldn't reach him to take it from him, so he'd just run around in circles with it and make me laugh. I'd missed laughing and thanked Sam every day for putting a smile on my face. I intended to invite his person over for coffee as soon as I had the house a little more together. But that never happened.

I was on my way out the front gate to take a walk on the beach one morning when I saw the animal control truck parked on the street. I asked what was going on and was told that neighbors had reported an abandoned dog. I couldn't imagine who could be so cruel until I watched the men heading into the yard next to mine. As they disappeared behind the house, I saw the eviction notice taped to the front door. I watched in horror as sweet Sam willingly went with the men. "Wait! What's going to happen to him?"

"The owner has seven days to claim him. If he isn't claimed, then he'll be available for adoption. Or if the shelter's too full, he'll be humanely euthanized. He's a cute dog—maybe he'll get lucky. It doesn't look very likely that the owner's coming for him."

As the truck drove away, I entered the gate and peered into the window of the house. It was empty. How could she just move away and leave Sam in the yard with no food or water? And why hadn't I noticed when she moved out? I guess I'd been a little lost in my own world, getting the house together and keeping up with my new job. And Sam had been sitting in his yard, hungry and alone, waiting patiently for the person who'd left him. My already tender heart felt an unwelcome jab.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like a walk on the beach anymore. Instead, I went inside and looked up which shelter Sam would be taken to. I had a new mission. First, I stopped at Petco and bought a collar and leash, some food, a bed, and some tennis balls---just the basics. Then I drove to the shelter and declared myself Sam's owner. I knew his real owner wouldn't show up, and I didn't want to take a chance of waiting a week, and then worry that Sam may be put down. I told the officer that Sam had gotten out when I accidentally left my gate open. "Do you have proof that he's your dog?"

I looked blankly at the woman for a moment and then took my phone out of my purse. I scrolled through the photos until I found the one I'd taken the first day I'd seen Sam running down the sidewalk. "Good enough."

If I'd realized what good company a dog was, I'd have gotten one years ago. I'd never had one before. Eric and I had talked about getting one at one point, but the Brentwood house was carpeted upstairs and it seemed easier to not have one and keep the carpets clean. Now that I was so in love with Sam, I couldn't imagine giving a hoot about carpets ever again. He was my buddy.

I hadn't mentioned Sam to Eric. I decided that I'd wait and explain him in person. I knew that once Eric saw him and how sweet he was that he wouldn't question my keeping him. Our emails still seemed so stifled and formal. It just seemed better to wait. But I did tell my friends about him and proudly walked him on our street. He slept on his little dog bed by my desk in the office while I worked and curled up at the foot of my bed while I slept. I couldn't have asked for a better companion. And I'd never needed one more.

I was counting the weeks before Eric was due to come home. I had settled into a fairly normal routine at the new house and still checked into the Brentwood house to make sure everything was okay there. Poor Juana only cooked for herself and Margarita, but I didn't have the heart to let her go. Those were decisions that Eric and I should make together once he got home. I still spent a fair amount of time in Brentwood visiting with Tara and some of my other friends.

Eric

I knew, of course, the day I got the email that it wasn't intended for me. The first clue was the subject line: Lunch.

Tara,

Would you mind terribly if we had lunch at the beach house today instead of in Brentwood? Sam's still adjusting to living here and I hate to leave him if I don't absolutely have to. He guilts me with those puppy dog eyes.

Call me,

Sookie

Well, they didn't waste any time. Fucking Sam Merlotte had actually moved into her new house with her? Fuck. I never saw that coming. I sat on that news for quite awhile, not really knowing what to do. For the first few days, I was just pissed. Pissed and jealous. I thought of how happy Sookie and I had been in our first house in Venice and then I replaced myself with Sam Merlotte in that picture and it was like a knife had cut my heart out. I imagined them just as happy as we had been and it made me sick.

But then as the days passed and I had more time to filter the news into my very confused brain, I thought—well, I always said that I just want her to be happy. And now she's happy. She has a chance to find what we had together but with a man that can give her children. The practical side of me knew that I had to let her go if I truly did want her to find the life she deserved.

Before that day, I had been counting the weeks until I could get home to fix our marriage, and after the email, I never wanted to go back to L.A. again.


	9. Chapter 9

Sookie

I was setting the table for lunch when Tara called. She was sitting at the restaurant in Brentwood and apparently hadn't gotten my email. I quickly put all the food away and dashed out the door. Fifteen minutes later, I was sliding into a booth and apologizing all over myself. I should have called Tara to confirm our change in plans.

What started out as a normal fun lunch with my girlfriend quickly turned into a confusing nightmare. Tara started out the meal telling me in excruciating detail about an affair that she discovered that JB had had while she was pregnant with their daughter. I'd had no idea that he had ever cheated on her. Tara explained that many marriages suffer affairs and come out stronger. "It's a hazard of the business that men like JB and Eric have the opportunity to meet these beautiful women at work. The woman JB had his thing with was a model he worked with on a shoot in Hawaii. She was physical perfection and…well…I was very pregnant. They're only human, Sookie. And Portia's not as tall as those models, but she's just as thin, and let's face it…Eric gets to see her naked at work. Not many men could face that kind of temptation and be strong enough to keep things professional."

I kept nodding as if I understood what she was talking about. Was she implying that Eric was having an affair with Portia Bellefleur? I'd never believe that.

I picked at my salad and kept my mouth shut while Tara carried on about how she would always be there for me. It was the longest lunch of my life, and I couldn't wait to get out of that restaurant. I implied that I needed to get back to work and ducked out as soon as we got the check. I hated the look of pity in Tara's eyes as she waved good-bye to me from the table.

As soon as I got home, I googled Portia and Eric and got an eyeful. They were all over Rome together. As a publicist, I knew just how completely false such reports could be and normally wouldn't have even given them any thought, but the nagging voice in the back of my mind kept reminding me that Eric and I were having a full-blown marital crisis whether I faced that truth or not and he was in Rome with one of the most beautiful women in the world. And like Tara said—he is human. Still, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. My gut told me that it couldn't be true and I really didn't think I was just being naïve or delusional.

I didn't want to have to sit on this and worry about it for the next few weeks while I waited for Eric to come home, so I decided to just email him and get it straight from the horse's mouth. Then I could put it to rest. It took me a few days to compose my email; I would write it out and then delete it. I finally just typed one sentence: Are you having an affair with Portia?

Eric

Sookie and I hadn't had any kind of serious conversation since I'd left for Rome. We'd been emailing about inane details about the houses and the weather, and completely ignored the huge problems I'd caused in our marriage before I left. The few times we'd talked by phone we awkwardly avoided discussing anything remotely intimate. I guess we were both afraid of opening a can of worms that we couldn't do anything about at the time

The biggest unspoken issue was of course the fact that I was sterile and would never be able to fulfill Sookie's one dream in her life that she valued above all others. If she stayed with me, we would never have biological children together. And I had already confessed in my drunken state that I didn't want to use a sperm donor, so that was off the table. I couldn't un-ring that bell.

I had also embarrassed her (and of course myself) by indulging in selfish and childish behavior by drinking rather than facing our problems. I'd been arrested, temporarily lost my license. It was in the paper and on the internet and all of Sookie's friends knew about it. I'd failed her yet again.

I knew that the unselfish thing to do would be to let her go so she could find happiness guilt-free with Sam Merlotte. But I just didn't see how I'd ever be able to do that.

And then opportunity landed in my lap. I hadn't given much thought to the stupid tabloid reports about me and Portia, but when Sookie wrote and asked me point blank (very unusual for us, by the way) whether I was having an affair, well, I knew that this was my chance. Yes, it would hurt her in the short term and she would hate me, which I couldn't bear the thought of. But in the long term, wouldn't I be giving her the freedom she needed to leave? She'd have the excuse to move on with her life completely blameless for the failure of our marriage. It would be all my fault.

She had no idea that I knew about her and Sam unless she realized that she'd sent me the wrong email, and that didn't seem likely or she would have mentioned it in her new up-front communication.

I sat and stewed about my answer for three long days. I could barely concentrate on my work, which was becoming a problem. Finally, I sat at the computer and typed out my answer, but stared at it for another hour before hitting send. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done. It was just one word: Yes.


	10. Chapter 10

Sookie

I was glad I was at home alone (well, with Sam) when I got my reply from Eric. I fell apart at first and just sat and cried and cried. I never thought that he would actually cheat on me. I guess I was naïve after all. Apparently, my marriage was in even worse shape than I thought. I wondered whether he was in love with her. Would he want a divorce? Would he want to marry her? I really couldn't imagine not being married to Eric. Even with all the mess we'd had in our life recently, he was still my husband. He was my life. I couldn't even conceive of what I'd do without him.

I'd read so much online about infertility, but I always glossed over the statistics about infertility and divorce. Those numbers had nothing to do with us. At least that's what I'd always told myself. Failure to conceive is obviously a tough thing on a marriage. Add the financial aspect of fertility treatments, and then, of course, the number of couples who don't get a happy result, and…well…it's not hard to see what can happen. Statistically, there were more divorces when the infertility was because of the man rather than the woman. Knowing men, that didn't really surprise me. Their self-worth is so closely tied to their testicles. As a woman, I get it on paper, but I can't really imagine how it must feel for a man to be told he is sterile. Just like I don't get why men buy sports cars and chase younger women when they hit middle-age. But sometimes they do. I equated Eric's sterility news to a mid-life crisis, and the affair started to make some sense. We had both handled this whole mess so badly. He drank alone, went to bed in a guest room. I didn't exactly reach out to him either. There was obviously no manual that could tell us what to do with our pain, but I knew that what we did with it was a mistake. And, now this affair seemed to be the result.

Eric mentioned several times before he left town how he must have disappointed me when he got his DUI. Honestly, I hardly even gave that much thought. I was grateful and relieved that no one was hurt and that he hadn't had an accident. I just saw it as a mistake—but certainly, it was a forgivable one. It was nothing compared to an affair—at least in my book.

I had two weeks to ponder Eric's infidelity, and I thought of little else. The day before he was scheduled to come home, I went to the Brentwood house and left him a note. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.

Eric

I'd been anxious to get home for most of the shoot in Rome to fix my marriage, but those last two weeks, I only wanted to stay. Going home just meant facing the pain of Sookie's betrayal. I was exhausted from the hours I'd been working and emotionally drained. Under the best of circumstances, that's a long tiring flight, and I was dealing with some of the worst circumstances of my life.

A production assistant dropped me at home and I was greeted by a sweet and thoughtful Juana who insisted that I sit down and eat immediately. I was starving and went into the kitchen before she herded me into the dining room. The table and chairs in the kitchen were gone—presumably at the Venice house with my wife and her new lover.

After eating, I went upstairs and took a long hot shower. I opened the closet to wheel my suitcase in (to be unpacked later—I was just too tired to think about it), and got a good look at what half a closet of clothes looks like. She really had moved out. I sat on the bed and stared at the empty rod.

She obviously had no desire to greet me, and I assumed that she was at her new house. I debated about calling her, but thought I should probably try to get some sleep before tackling any major conversations. I scooted back to lie on the bed and saw the note on my pillow: Welcome home. I'm at the new house. Please come over when you can. We need to talk and I thought we could have more privacy here. I hope you had a safe flight. Sookie

I read the note a couple of times and debated whether I would be able to sleep knowing that she was waiting for me. I finally gave up, got dressed, and drove to Venice.

She seemed genuinely glad to see me. As usual, she took my breath away at how beautiful she looked. She had on a simple blue halter dress and sandals. I'd missed her so much. We hugged briefly and she invited me in. A very funny-looking dog ran up to greet me. I patted him on the head and looked back to Sookie.

"It's a long story. I know I should have talked to you about it first, but…well...it was kind of an emergency. The woman next door moved away and left him. I couldn't just leave him." I just nodded. I'd always wanted a dog. Maybe now I'd get one too. We could both have one.

The house was really great. It had lots of charm and character, and of course, Sookie had put it together perfectly. It was missing some furniture and I wondered whether Sam Merlotte might be bringing some of his own stuff here to feather their little love nest. She walked me through each room and when she came to her office, she casually added, "This is Sam's favorite room," with an innocent smile. I felt a stab of pain and wondered how she could be so nonchalant about the whole thing. I didn't know what to say and so I just kept my mouth shut for the rest of the tour that ended in the back yard. The dog wanted to play ball, so I tossed it for him a few times, fighting the urge to just leave so I could have a meltdown in private.

We settled back in the living room and she offered me something to eat or drink, but I really wanted nothing. My stomach was in knots. We talked at length about the film and the house, but carefully avoided anything of real importance. In spite of everything, I kept getting distracted by how much I wanted to touch her.

Sam Merlotte obviously wasn't in the house, so I guessed that I wouldn't have to be confronted by him quite yet. My mind started to wander, wondering how selfish and wrong it would be to kiss her one last time before letting her go.

She excused herself to use the bathroom, and I went back and sat on her bed. When she opened the bathroom door, she looked surprised to see me. I just stood and took a few steps and kissed her. Hard. I wasn't sure what kind of reaction I was expecting. I hadn't thought beyond the initial kiss. But I definitely wasn't expecting what I got. She grabbed me and kissed me back with a powerful urgency. Maybe she thought this would be our last kiss as well.

Her fingers roughly combed through my hair before she began to unbutton my shirt. I thought, my god, this is going to be more than just a last kiss. I untied her dress behind her neck and pushed it down to the floor. She stepped out of her sandals as she walked me backwards until I was sitting on the bed. I pulled her to me and devoured her breasts, kneading her glorious satin-covered ass.

Sookie pulled on my shoulders, indicating she wanted me to stand up. When I did, she carefully peeled my shirt off and unbuttoned my jeans. I kicked off my shoes and pushed my pants and boxers to the floor, then took Sookie's hand and pulled her back to lie beside me on the bed.

We took our time and just kissed and touched each other's bodies for a long time. I was in no hurry, wanting to make it last as long as possible.

When I pulled her panties off, I saw the little tell-tale white string between her legs. I looked to her face and she had an apology in her expression. I pulled the string and went to the bathroom to dispose of the tampon, returning with a towel. Sookie raised her hips so I could place it beneath her. As I settled on top of her, she had a naughty gleam in her eye as she whispered, "Are we gonna make the flag of Japan?" It was our little code phrase that we'd coined for obvious reasons, but it had been years since we'd had any need to use it.

I loved to see her in such a sexy and playful mood, but my tone was dead serious as I replied, "I'm going to make love to my wife." I watched her face as I entered her. The smile faded quickly, her eyes closed, and she furrowed her brow . I knew that look. It was pure pleasure. It had been a long time since I'd seen it, but I'd certainly never forgotten it. I worked hard to keep that look on her face. I was forceful and determined to please her. I wanted to knock every memory of Sam Merlotte out of her beautiful head. I didn't last very long—it had been months, after all, but I made sure that Sookie came before I did. It was pretty intense. There were some tears on her part and I hoped they were joyful rather than painful ones.

I got us both cleaned up and replaced her tampon. Once I'd taken care of the towel and washcloth in the bathroom, I pulled the covers back and crawled into bed, pulling Sookie to me, holding her maybe a little too tightly. I knew that soon I'd have to face the fact that she was no longer mine, but I wasn't ready to have the conversation I knew we needed to have about Sam Merlotte. I realized that when I was in the bathroom, I hadn't seen any evidence of a man's belongings in there. Come to think of it, when Sookie was giving me a tour of the house, I hadn't seen any men's clothing in any of the closets. I was half asleep, but mumbled into Sookie's hair, "Where's Sam's stuff?"

She didn't move, but spoke into my chest. "His stuff? Um…he doesn't really have much stuff…a bed in my office…"

Well that's strange, I thought. Why would he have a bed in her office? And that's the last thing I remember thinking before I drifted into a deep and heavy sleep.

When I woke, I was so completely comfortable. There was a warm weight on my foot. I looked down and saw that goofy little dog sleeping with his head on my foot. He was pretty sweet. I rolled over and looked around the room. The afternoon light was perfect. I loved this house, but then I felt a stab of pain because I didn't live here. Sookie came into the room in a pale pink silk robe carrying a glass of iced tea. She sat and smiled silently at me as I sat up and took a sip. There was a sprig of fresh mint in the glass and it reminded me of when we lived in our first house in Venice and she grew mint in the back yard. I had a flash of an image of her in her gardening clothes, big bulky gloves on her hands and a floppy hat on her head. I missed those days in that house. I loved our life back then. That brought me back to the state of our lives at the moment and I felt an overwhelming sadness.

"We need to talk." I took a deep breath at her words. I knew that the pain was coming. Sam Merlotte was about to take my life away from me.

"Okay." I set the glass on the nightstand and gave her my full attention.

"I want you to stop seeing Portia and come live here with me." That was so completely not what I was expecting to hear.

"What?"

"Tell her it's over. It was a mistake. I don't care what you tell her really, just end it." I sat up a little straighter and searched her eyes. She was calm and cool, waiting for my response.

"There's nothing to end." Her eyes glistened with the beginning of tears. "I lied to you." She put her hand to her mouth to cover her quivering bottom lip. "She's seeing Pam, actually. I never…Sookie, I would never…" I pulled her into my arms and she wept into my chest. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

"Why…" was all she managed to squeak out between sobs.

"I thought it would make it easier for you to move on. You deserve to have what you want, and I can't give it to you." I held her for a long moment. She released me, sat back and wiped her tears away.

"But, all I want is you." I felt the lump in my throat, but was determined to keep it together. This painful conversation wasn't over by a long shot.

"Isn't there something you want to tell me about Sam Merlotte?" I watched her look down, thinking of what to say. I braced myself for the pain.

"Yes. He kissed me once at a party. I know I should have told you, but I handled it. And it never happened again. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept it from you."

I sat in stunned silence, then looked around the room. "He doesn't live here?"

"Live here?" She gave a little laugh. "No, honey. It's just me and Sam. And we want you to live here with us."

"You and Sam…" I was processing this new information as I looked down at my feet to the cross-eyed little face. "Sam."

"I bought this house because I want us to live like we did before—with no housekeeper or cook or gardeners or pool man. Just you and me. And now Sam. We can keep the Brentwood house if you want to--to have people over. This house isn't very impressive, but it's…"

"Perfect. It's perfect."

She sighed, "Yeah."

I had a vision of us living here, happy for the first time in a long time, but then I reminded myself what the real root of what was wrong with our marriage was. "Sookie, I'm sterile."

Her smiled faded and she got very serious. "No, Eric. _We're_ infertile."

"I can't give you children."

"No, we can't have children." She let that sink in before continuing. "Once I was over the shock of learning why we couldn't get pregnant, do you know what I felt? Relief. Yes, I wanted to have a baby. Obviously, that's what I wanted, but as soon as I started to see the fertility doctor, I started having second thoughts about how we were going about trying to have a baby. Then when I found out we couldn't, it was like…well, that's it—the decision is made. We can stop worrying about it and get back to our lives."

"You still want me." I found it hard to believe.

"Eric. You are my husband. I love you. I will always want you. That's unconditional."

I pulled her to me and kissed her. God, I loved her. "I don't deserve you."

"Well, I think you do. Please don't ever scare me like that again."

"I promise. I'll never lie to you again." And I meant it.


	11. Chapter 11

Eric

I'm looking forward to tonight. It's our seventh anniversary. I've heard people talk about the seven-year itch. I guess some couples hit a plateau at seven years and get bored. Our marriage has never been boring, that's for sure. We had a rough year last year, but we came through it stronger. One thing we learned is that even the strongest of bonds can be extremely fragile.

Maybe we could have worked through everything on our own, but we both realized that sometimes communication was tough for us, so we sought the help of a marital therapist. She helped us learn how to talk more openly about the whole pregnancy issue (among others) and we both learned a lot.

I realized that when I falsely confessed my affair with Portia, I wasn't being selfless and releasing Sookie for a better life. I was just being a lying ass, cowardly wallowing in self-pity. Amazingly, Sookie forgave me. It took me a lot longer to forgive myself.

Once I'd returned from Rome and we'd recovered from the initial blow of my diagnosis, Sookie and I did some research about my particular type of infertility. Some resources recommended getting re-tested at least twice because there were so many factors that could determine the count and motility of sperm. Because we had been trying for so long and had read all the recommended books, arming ourselves with information, we knew that we had eliminated most of the factors in my life that could impede the production of healthy sperm. But the one major factor that was still present was stress. Relieving stress in my life could increase the sperm count, but there seemed to be nothing that could be done to improve the motility factor, and that was the more severe of the two problems.

Sookie and I made the decision together not to get further tests and to just accept the initial diagnosis and live our lives knowing we would most likely be a childless couple. If, by some miracle of nature, that ever changes, then, of course, we would welcome a child into our lives. But we intend to only do what comes naturally, and we will accept the result, no matter what.

We have dinner plans tonight, but not at Spago or Chaya or The Ivy. We're heading to a dumpy little Italian restaurant over on Abbott Kinney where we eat every few weeks and they know us by name. It's our favorite. I have the wedding band in my pocket. I know better than to sneak any diamonds into this night. It looks just like the band that was stolen—the one I gave her the day we got married. I know she'll love it because she always loved the way the first one looked with her little diamond ring right up until the night I blew it with the rock. No more rocks. I'm learning.

I get a text from her that she's running late. She took a skinny pit bull (god, they're hard to place) to his foster home in Orange County this afternoon after springing him from the shelter on what was to be his last day. She's always in a great mood on days like these—days when she makes a difference. She volunteers her time and we financially support several rescue groups in town and have ever since we adopted Sam. That's how we came to find Tina, Sam's buddy. Yes, she's too tall to really be a Chihuahua (just like he's too short and too big to be one), but they make the perfect pair. His legs are short and she only has three. She won't tell us what happened before, but she gets along just fine now.

So, I predict dinner, then love-making. We'll sleep late tomorrow and then have the whole day to work on the script. I love days like that. Sookie and I have been having so much fun writing this one together. It's going to be the first film that Stackhouse produces.

We started Stackhouse last year when I directed the PSA against drinking and driving to fulfill my community service requirement after getting my DUI. Sookie wanted to help me with it. She actually wrote the copy herself and put the storyboards together. Pam produced it and Sookie assisted her. Sookie enjoyed it so much that we decided to expand the company with the proceeds from the sale of the Brentwood house and go into commercial production. We've shot two more Public Service Announcements and four other spots—not bad for a brand new company.

Once Stackhouse started to really demand Sookie's time, she left Merlotte's, Inc. I'm not going to lie and say I was sorry about that. Sam wished her well with the new company and promised to use us if he ever needs a commercial.

We were really pleased with how well Stackhouse did so quickly, and decided that in addition to producing commercials, we'd like to do films. I have become fairly well-known for big studio productions, and my films have always made money. I've made a lot of money personally as well, which is a real luxury in this business. What I'd like to do next is something closer to my heart—not a big studio film, but a small, independent film of my own choosing.

I've been looking for the right script to produce my own film, but haven't seen one that would make it worth the risk. When Sookie had the idea to write one together, it all came together and made perfect sense. Once I'd finished Roman Holiday, I had all my time to devote to the script. We should have the first draft finished in a few weeks.

Sookie and I are attending the premier of Roman Holiday in Rome next month. Then we should start pre-production on our own film. I love the sound of that.

Sam and Tina jump off the bed and run to the door, tails wagging furiously. They hear her car before I do. I'm right behind them, thinking I'd be wagging my tail as well if I had one.

She gives me the dog report as I follow her to the bedroom. She's peeling clothes, anxious to change or we'll be late for dinner. Even after all this time, I am mesmerized as she reveals skin. I touch every inch as she discards her clothes.

"Honey, we don't have time." I just hum into her neck, my hands very busy. "I probably smell like a dog." Hey, I love dogs. "Eric." That gets my attention. I stop and look into her eyes. She freezes for a minute. I can see the internal struggle, then I know I'm winning when I see the start of her smile.

"Yes?" I sound cocky even to myself.

The smile grows. "I guess we're going to be late for dinner."

Yeah, we'll be late for dinner. "Happy anniversary, lover."

XXX

**A/N: Yes, the story is over, but there's one more little bit, so click on that arrow one more time for one more tiny chapter…**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: tvgirl.63 made a very generous donation to the Support Stacie Auction in my name. I offered her a ficlet as a little present, and she said that it really wasn't necessary, but that if I wanted to do anything related to my Love in L.A. series, that "it would be awesome." Naturally, I wanted to give her a gift, so I'm sharing with everyone the letter that Sookie wrote to present to Eric the night of their seventh anniversary…**

Dear Eric,

I decided that instead of buying you some silly present that you don't need that I would write you a letter to celebrate our seventh anniversary. Just like any married couple, we've had our ups and downs, but our love for each other has never wavered, and for that I feel very lucky.

I'm so proud of the professional accomplishments you've achieved. You're talented and smart and successful and hard-working. You've always been a great provider and I am grateful for that.

You've also always been a perfect partner, a happy companion, and a generous lover. You make me laugh and touch my heart every day, and I can't imagine what my life would have been without you in it.

Yes, we have had our share of dramas and problems, and there is no doubt in my mind that we will still face more in the future, but I know that we'll face them together and will be able to conquer whatever comes our way.

So, happy anniversary, my love. Thank you for giving me the best seven years a girl could ask for. Here's to many more happy anniversaries in our future. And here's to many years of working together and loving each other and being strong for each other. We're going to need it because I'm pregnant.

Yours,

Sookie


End file.
